#isuckatwritingsobenice

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

young! issac night x teenage sweetheart! reader maybe it could be a fluff scene of him doing his mad scientist shit and reader is just sitting on tables yapping. raar idk

please i beg on all fours.

A/N: beg no more because i am here presenting to you my piece 🧎‍♀️ i hope this is good! you didn’t specify pronouns so they them pronouns were used! thank you so much for your request!!!

Navigation!!

Warnings: WEDNESDAY S2 SPOILERS!!

Isaac’s workshop was a world of its own. The candles flickered faintly against the stone walls, shadows stretching across the shelves of half-finished inventions, spare parts, and notebooks filled with equations only he could understand. At the center of it all was Isaac, hunched over his bench, sleeves rolled up as he adjusted tiny gears with a careful hand. His hair fell into his face, and he pushed it back absently, eyes locked on the little machine that sparked faintly in the dark.

Y/N sat on the edge of the table beside him, legs dangling, swinging idly as they watched him. They had long ago stopped worrying about whether they were in his way. Isaac never asked them to move, never hinted that their chatter distracted him. In fact, he always seemed calmer with their voice filling the silence.

“So, first of all, you would have laughed at me this morning,” Y/N said, picking up a discarded wrench and twirling it. “I tripped over my own shoelace in the hallway, and of course it had to happen right when everyone was walking past. I think three people clapped. Clapped, Isaac.”

He made a soft sound of amusement, though his eyes stayed on his work. “That sounds cruel.”

“It was cruel. I am probably going to be remembered as the shoelace kid now.” They sighed dramatically, pressing the back of their hand to their forehead. “A tragic legacy.”

Isaac tightened a screw, his lips twitching into a small smile. “You survived.”

“Barely.” They peeked at him out of the corner of their eye, pleased when they caught the faint curve of his mouth.

“And then in class,” they went on, leaning back on their palms, “I accidentally dropped my pen. I bent down to grab it, and somehow I hit my head on the desk. The noise was so loud everyone turned around.”

That earned them a soft chuckle, low and brief. He adjusted a wire, but his voice was warm. “Are you sure you were not cursed today?”

“I am starting to wonder.” They grinned at him, proud of pulling another laugh from his usually serious face.

They let themself flop backward onto the table, staring up at the ceiling. “Lunch was not any better. The bread pudding was so bad I am convinced it was just plaster with sugar on top. I think it could be used to patch the walls in here.”

“Perhaps I should ask for the recipe then,” Isaac murmured, carefully adjusting a gear.

They laughed, the sound bright and ringing in the quiet room. “That is the first time I have ever heard you joke about food. I am honored.”

Isaac’s smile deepened just slightly, though his attention stayed on his invention. “You bring it out of me.”

Their breath caught at the softness in his tone, but they quickly covered it with more chatter. “Anyway, after that disaster, I went outside to clear my head. And do you know what I found? A squirrel. Sitting in the middle of the courtyard like it owned the place. Just sitting there, staring at me.”

“Did it attack you?” he asked, completely serious, though the spark in his eyes betrayed him.

“No, but I was prepared to defend myself.” They sat up again, miming a dramatic stance. “If that squirrel made one wrong move, I would have fought it for dominance.”

Isaac shook his head, chuckling quietly as he adjusted a glowing crystal inside the contraption. “You and a squirrel. That is not a fair match.”

“Are you saying the squirrel would win?”

“I am saying you would.”

Their grin widened at that, and they leaned closer to peer at the glowing machine. “So what exactly is this one supposed to do?”

He hesitated for a moment, then explained. “It is meant to convert energy into a constant flow. If it works, it will glow endlessly without burning out.”

Their brows rose. “So it is like a forever-light?”

“Yes,” he said, a quiet pride in his voice. “A forever-light.”

They smiled at the phrase. “That is beautiful.”

“It is practical,” he corrected softly, though there was a touch of shyness in his tone.

“Maybe,” they said, leaning closer until their shoulder brushed his. “But I still think it is beautiful. Like you are building little pieces of hope in here.”

Isaac glanced at them then, his expression unguarded for a fleeting second. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he only gave a small smile and returned to his work.

“You like when I talk to you while you work, don’t you?” they asked suddenly.

“Yes.”

He did not even hesitate, and that made their heart stutter. “Really?”

“Really,” he said, his hands steady as ever, his voice quiet but sure. “Your voice makes this place less empty. It helps me focus.”

They blinked at him, caught off guard by his honesty. “That is the sweetest thing you have ever said to me.”

“It is only the truth.”

Their chest warmed, and they smiled at him, softer this time. “Then I will keep talking forever if it means you will keep smiling like that.”

He shook his head faintly, but the smile remained on his lips. The little machine on the bench pulsed with a steady glow, but to Y/N, the real light in the room was the boy beside them, working with quiet devotion, listening to every word as though their stories were the most important thing he had ever heard.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Heaven in Static

Synopsis: After Alastor’s deal is complete, he goes to heaven to find what’s rightfully his. You.

A/N: after s2 episodes i’ve BEEN itching to feed the alastor fangirl in me so here it is!! Based off of THIS post! Here’s a possible/ loosely tied, part two!

!!!SPOILERS AHEAD!!

The rumble came first.

Then the static.

It rolled through Heaven like a wave of white noise, sharp and disorienting, breaking the peace that had lasted for centuries. Choirs faltered mid-hymn. Trumpets cracked into silence. The clouds bled red where his laughter touched them.

Alastor had arrived.

He had torn open the gates using power no sinner was meant to possess, power earned through the final, terrible deal with Rosie. The ground beneath his polished shoes shimmered gold, but his shadow burned black against it. Behind him came the noise of Hell itself, spilling upward in a flood of chaos and smoke. Angels met demons in midair, light and flame colliding until the sky turned to ash.

And through it all, Alastor walked calmly, his grin bright and unshaken. His voice hummed through the ruined air like an old broadcast.

“Do not mind the noise, darlings. I am simply here to collect what’s mine.”

He moved through the war-torn streets of Heaven, stepping over fallen halos and cracked feathers. Every corner burned, yet he seemed untouched by the fire. His crimson eyes scanned every face, every terrified soul, searching.

Then he heard it. A scream.

He followed the sound into a narrow alley where two sinners, lost and wild with borrowed power, had cornered a lone figure. The light around her flickered weakly, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

“Ah,” he breathed. “There you are.”

The sinners turned, but they never had the chance to speak. A single snap of his fingers, and the alley filled with shrieking static. Their forms distorted, tearing apart into smoke and silence. When it cleared, only Alastor remained, smiling as though he had simply arrived for tea.

You were pressed against the wall, trembling, your eyes wide with disbelief. The war outside roared like a storm, but in this alley, there was only the two of you.

“Alastor…” Your voice broke. “What did you do?”

He adjusted his tie, his grin unwavering. “What I had to.”

“You started this,” you whispered. “All of this chaos… just to find me?”

He laughed softly, a sound that made the air vibrate. “My dear, I set the board long before the first piece moved. Rosie thought I wanted power, and I let her believe it. What I truly wanted was you.”

You shook your head, tears forming in your eyes. “You destroyed Heaven.”

“No, no,” he said, stepping closer, his tone almost tender. “I only opened the door. The rest followed.”

He reached out, fingers brushing your chin. The touch was cold, but there was something hauntingly human in it.

“Do you have any idea how long I searched for you?” he whispered. “How many centuries I built this game, knowing it would end here?”

Outside, thunder cracked as angelic fire met infernal flame. The city trembled. Yet in that small alley, time seemed to stop.

You stared at him, torn between fear and the old ache of love. “You can’t stay here,” you said. “They’ll destroy you for this.”

Alastor’s grin widened, and for a moment, the red in his eyes deepened to something almost gentle.

“Oh, my darling,” he said, “they could never destroy me. Not when I have already turned their Heaven into my stage.”

He offered his hand, tilting his head in that familiar, theatrical way. “Now, shall we take our bow together?”

The war raged on. The sky burned. And somewhere above the noise, his laughter echoed through Heaven like the end of a show no one would ever forget.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

human!alastor with pregnant reader 🥹🥹

ive read ur other fics and i love them, really love the ones with the childhood friends trope hoping u can keep that in this one maybe?

Softness in you

A/N: TY SMMM FOR YOUR REQUEST!! Hope you ENJOYYY!!!

Warnings: domestic Alastor! Human alastor! probably/definitely unrealistic alastor but a girl can dream!

The rain had slowed to a quiet drizzle outside your little house on Dumaine Street, tapping lightly against the shutters like a lullaby. Evening settled warm and comfortable inside, the lamps glowing with that soft amber light Alastor always said made the home feel like honey.

You sat on the edge of the bed, one hand pressed to the curve of your stomach. The baby shifted, slow and heavy, and you let out a breath.

“You all right, darling?”

Alastor’s voice drifted from the doorway, familiar and warm. He leaned against the frame with that little smile that had never quite changed from when he was a lanky boy running barefoot through the bayou beside you. Even in his crisp white shirt and loosened tie, he still had that same mischievous spark in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” you said. “Just tired.”

He stepped inside, quiet as a cat despite his tall frame, and knelt in front of you. His hands settled gently on your knees first, like he was asking permission. You smoothed your hand through his hair and he dipped his head, brushing a kiss to your thigh before lifting his eyes again.

“May I?” he asked softly.

You guided his hand to your stomach. “Always.”

His palm warmed the curve of it, fingers splayed with reverence. In the lamplight he looked younger. Softer. Like the boy who used to hold your hand under the cypress trees. The boy who used to carry your schoolbooks because he thought it made him look dependable. The boy who promised at fourteen that he would marry you one day and give you a house filled with laughter.

You had laughed at him then. You never laugh now. Not when he holds you like this.

“The baby kicked,” he whispered.

“It did,” you said.

A moment of quiet followed. Not tense. Just full. Like he was absorbing every detail of this life the two of you had made.

Then he rested his forehead against your stomach, arms circling you with a tenderness he rarely let the world see.

“You know,” he murmured, voice thick with memories, “my mama used to say I would never settle down. She told me I had too much of the wandering spirit in me. Too restless. Too wild.” He huffed a soft laugh. “She never accounted for you.”

You brushed a thumb across his cheek. “I tamed the great radio man?”

He looked up at you with that crooked grin he only ever gave you. “You always have.”

You felt the baby shift again beneath his touch, and something warm bloomed in his expression. Something peaceful. Something almost overwhelmed.

“Do you remember,” you asked, “the first time you told me you loved me?”

He groaned. “Do we have to bring up my foolishness?”

“Yes,” you said, laughing. “Because you tripped over your own feet.”

“In my defense, my shoes were too big.”

“You were fifteen.”

“And hopelessly in love,” he said, kissing your wrist, “which made everything worse.”

Your heart softened. “You’ve loved me a long time, Al.”

“My whole life,” he whispered.

He shifted, easing you back onto the pillows with slow, careful movements. His hand cradled your side as if you were something fragile he had sworn to protect, which he did. When he stretched out beside you, he pulled the blankets up over both of you and leaned in to kiss your temple.

“You are my home,” he said. “Not this house. Not the radio. Just. You.”

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the same heartbeat you used to fall asleep to when you were children tangled together on the front porch swing.

“And this baby,” he added softly, “is the greatest gift I could ever imagine.”

Your eyes stung.

“You’re going to be a wonderful father,” you whispered.

He swallowed, emotion tightening his throat, he wasn’t used to this. “I want to be everything you and this child deserve.”

“You already are.”

He held you closer, one arm under your head, the other hand spread protectively over your belly. Outside, the rain eased to silence, and the two of you breathed together in the quiet.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

The Dial Turns to You

Synopsis: After decades of serving for another, Alastor’s finally set free. The first thing he does? He sets out to make you his again.

A/N: Based off THIS post!! S2 SPOILERS AHEAD!! Here’s the alternative version to this prompt!! I don’t plan to turn either of these into a series, I kind of just wanted the ideas out there, so I hope you enjoy!

Rosie’s laugh still haunted him.

For decades, Alastor had played the loyal servant, her favorite little monster. He obeyed her orders, kept his smile sharp, and let the world believe he enjoyed every minute of it. But inside, he counted the seconds. Every moment under her control was a chain around his throat, one he wore only for a single reason.

You.

He remembered your face more clearly than his own reflection. The warmth of your hand, the spark of your laughter, the quiet moments between chaos when you would rest your head on his shoulder. When he was alive, that had been enough. But death was cruel. He learned early that no amount of charm or magic could keep two souls together once one was damned.

When he found the spell, buried deep in a tome of forgotten languages, he almost laughed. A ritual to find the reincarnated. To trace the pulse of a soul that had begun anew. It was impossible for anyone else. But not for him.

Not for a man willing to give away everything.

And so he made the deal. Rosie’s terms were cruel, but Alastor didn’t hesitate. His freedom, his body, his voice, his sanity, whatever it took. He told her it was for power, for dominance, for the thrill of control. But the truth was simpler. He would endure anything if it meant finding you again.

Now, after years of servitude and silence, the static was gone. The power he had built hummed in his veins like music. He stood at the threshold between worlds, red eyes glowing against the void.

On the other side, the mortal world pulsed with color. He could hear your voice through the noise. Soft. Laughing. Alive.

Alastor stepped through.

The transition was almost peaceful. The world around him shimmered into existence: a rainy city, neon lights flickering against puddles, car horns echoing through the night. He smiled faintly. Such a quaint little place for you to start again.

He followed the sound of your voice to a small café glowing on the corner. Inside, you were sitting near the window, talking to a friend. Your smile was the same, though your face was new. You wore that same spark of curiosity he remembered from lifetimes ago.

He stopped outside, watching you through the glass, rain tracing faint streaks down the window. For a moment, he couldn’t move. All the centuries of manipulation, the endless noise of Rosie’s laughter, the blood and screams of Hell, all of it faded into silence.

His hand pressed against the glass. “There you are,” he whispered.

The faux radio-speaker inside crackled faintly, just enough to make you look toward it. The sound was brief, almost like a whisper of static caught in the wiring, before fading again. You frowned, shrugged it off, and turned back to your drink.

Alastor smiled. That would do nicely.

He didn’t want to frighten you. Not yet. The past would mean nothing to you now; you were mortal, clean of the memories that had once bound you to him. If he showed you too much, too soon, you would run. And he couldn’t allow that.

No, this needed to be perfect. He needed you to see him as you had before. He needed to make you fall in love with him all over again.

He spent the next hour watching the rhythm of your evening, every little habit you had. The way you stirred your drink too many times. The polite smile you gave to the barista. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you thought too hard. When you finally left, umbrella in hand, he followed at a careful distance.

You stopped at a crosswalk, the rain falling harder now. That was when he made his move.

A flicker of magic shifted the world around him. A flash of red light, invisible to all but the shadows, and he stepped forward, looking perfectly human. He wore the same sharp suit, though the color had dulled to maroon, and his grin was the same one that had once made you blush. With a quick brush of his hand, his curls fluffed up nicely, as he quietly braced himself.

He brushed against your shoulder lightly, as if by accident.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice smooth and warm, every syllable polished like glass.

You turned, startled, and found yourself staring into eyes far too bright for the dim streetlight. “Oh it’s okay,” you said, smiling faintly. “Just an accident.” Your chuckle rang through his ears.

He chuckled softly. “You look rather familiar. Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so,” you replied, tilting your head. “Maybe you’ve been here before. I frequent the café down the street.”

“Ah, that explains it,” he said with a grin. “Perhaps I’ll stop by sometime. I do enjoy a good cup of coffee and better company.”

You laughed lightly, and for a brief second, something inside him tightened; an echo of the past tugging at his chest. You smiled at him just as you used to.

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” you said. “If you stop by, I’ll make sure you get the best seat.”

He tipped an imaginary hat. “If that seat is next to you, then I’ll hold you to that.”

He didn’t miss the way you smiled, looking down and bidding him goodbye with a wave as your paths split yet again.

As you walked away, Alastor watched, the faintest hint of real emotion crossing his face. For the first time in centuries, the grin softened.

He had found you. Not as a ghost of his past life, but as someone living, breathing, and alive.

He would see you again. He would learn your laugh anew, your thoughts, your dreams. He’d spend all the time he needed to, to get you back.

And when the time was right, he would peel back the veil and show you the truth, the lives you shared, the deal he made, the eternity he traded to be a captive, just to stand beside you again.

For now, he slipped back into the shadows, humming a tune only the dead beneath him would recognize. The rain fell harder, masking the static that trailed behind him.

Tomorrow, the game would begin.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Heavens Sacrifice

Synopsis: Alastor has brought hell to heaven to find you, but Sera won’t have chaos at her door. You didn’t realize the pearly gates were so quick to make someone fall, especially you.

A/N: this can be seen as a part two to Heaven in Static, but isn’t direct, so it can be a stand alone!

Heaven was falling apart.

Smoke twisted through the golden halls where serenity once lived. Choirs that were meant to sound eternal now shrieked in panic as demons and sinners clashed against angels and winners. The sky flickered with torn light, and distant trumpets cracked under the pressure of war.

Sinners ran wild through holy halls, the talk of revolution high in the air. Angels scrambled to contain fires that refused to die, looking for some order. Cracked trumpets lay scattered across the marble floor. Golden light flickered like a dying bulb under the weight of the infernal chaos Alastor had unleashed upon heaven.

In the highest chamber, Sera stood at the center of a trembling crowd of angels. Her massive wings glowed with a cold intensity. Emily stood beside her, clutching herself, her face pale with fear. She had never seen such violence.

You stood between two armored Seraphim who held your arms tightly, refusing to meet your eyes.

Then Alastor appeared.

He stepped through the tall entrance with the grace of a man arriving fashionably late to a party he had not been invited to. His polished shoes clicked on marble. His shadow danced along the floor as though excited. He had been waiting for this, for decades.

“Well now,” he said cheerfully as he looked around. “What a lovely gathering. I can hardly take credit for all this entertainment.” He paused. “Actually, yes I can.”

Sera faced him with a firm, cold stare. “Alastor. You must end this. Heaven cannot withstand this destruction.”

He placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “Heaven is far more fragile than I expected. A tragic flaw in the architectural design, I suppose. I mean, how would you even begin to defend yourselves, with your leader gone, it’s hard not to be afraid!”

Emily stepped forward, her voice cracking. “Please, listen. This cannot continue. There must be another way, we can talk about this!”

Alastor grinned wider. “My dear, I am quite open to options. But so far, none of you have offered anything delightful and I’m sure you won’t like any of my options.”

Sera exhaled slowly, then spoke with authority. “We will give you Y/n.”

The room erupted in shocked whispers. You jerked in place, eyes widening in disbelief.

Emily instantly stepped between Sera and Alastor. “No. Absolutely not. She is innocent. She cannot be handed over like an object. She is an angel like us!”

“You brought all this chaos for her,” Sera said sharply, her eyes locked on Alastor. “You tore through Heaven’s gates in search of her, your wife. Do not pretend otherwise.”

Alastor tapped his chin thoughtfully, pretending to consider her words.

“Hm. Yes, yes, that is true. I did come for her.” He gave you a fond but unsettling look. “And what a charming sight she is. But your offer…” He waved a dismissive hand. “It feels incomplete. Unsatisfying. A bit stingy for a realm that prides itself on generosity.”

Emily grabbed Sera’s arm. “Do not do this. Think of something else. Please.” Her voice wavered. “She serves Heaven with her entire heart. She does not deserve to fall. This isn’t fair to her.”

Your breath shook as you tried to speak. “Sera, please. I do not want this. I beg you. I am loyal. I have done nothing wrong. I didn’t ask for this!”

Sera closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, her resolve was stone. “Heaven must survive. And…Alastor will not leave without you.”

Alastor clicked his tongue. “Quite correct! I do not appreciate incomplete quests. It took me ages to figure out how to get up here!”

Sera lifted her chin. “Take her. In return, your sinners will return to Hell and cease their attack.”

Alastor raised a brow. “You make it sound as if you are gifting me something. A fallen angel is quite a rare treasure, I agree, but what guarantees do I have that you will not try to smite me the moment she crosses the threshold?”

“You brought war to our gates for her,” Sera repeated. “You will take her. You will return your forces to Hell. Those are the terms.”

Alastor let out a long, theatrical sigh. “So strict. I feel positively bullied.”

Emily shouted, her voice breaking. “You cannot do this to her! She deserves her life in Heaven! She has earned it! She is not yours to offer!”

Sera ignored her.

Alastor placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Well, if the Seraphim insists so passionately, I will not argue. I would hate to be rude after all the hospitality Heaven has shown me.”

Your knees trembled. “Please, Sera, I beg you. Do not do this to me.”

Sera turned away. Her decision was final.

Light gathered in her hands, swirling with divine finality. You felt the ground drop beneath your feet as your grace ripped free from your body. Your wings burned to ash. Your halo cracked and shattered against the floor like brittle glass.

Your life, your peace; gone.

Emily screamed your name, reaching for you, but was pulled back by other angels.

You collapsed as the last of Heaven’s warmth left your body.

Alastor stepped forward with an eager smile. “Lovely craftsmanship, Sera. Quite efficient.”

Sera’s expression remained cold. “Heaven holds you to your word, Radio Demon. Take her and leave this place.”

“Oh, I will,” he purred. “Thank you kindly for your cooperation. It has been an absolute delight reclaiming what is rightfully mine.”

With a snap of his fingers, the sinners withdrew, rising and fading in red static as they returned to Hell. The war fell silent. The skies cleared. Angels lowered their weapons in exhausted disbelief. Sinners left with the talk of winning and celebrating, thinking they had won over heaven. They couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

Alastor bent down and gently lifted your limp body into his arms, his eternal bride, you, finally coming home to him.

“Come now, darling,” he whispered with a soft chuckle. “It is time to go home.”

You woke later to dim scarlet light. The air was warm and heavy. Your body felt different, hollow and somehow cold.

Alastor sat beside you, leaning forward with that signature smile that felt both familiar and terrifying.

His eyes glowed like embers as he whispered,

“Welcome home, my dear.”

Your new wings lay behind you, dark and quiet.

And Heaven was gone.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

My Fault London: Nick Blurbs

A/N: Kind of headcannons, kind of blurbs, all around just wanted to write for Nick :) Spicey Ver. Here!

Fast, Calculated

Nick’s car hums beneath you, the engine smooth as he weaves through the streets at an almost effortless speed. You know he’s in control, but that doesn’t stop your pulse from spiking every time he threads through tight gaps between cars like they aren’t even there.

“Nick—” you start, gripping the edge of your seat.

His smirk is almost lazy, but his eyes never leave the road. “Relax.”

“Relax? You’re going ninety in a fifty zone—”

Before you can finish, he smoothly takes a turn down an empty side street, braking just enough for the car to slide into place at the curb. His hand lands on your knee—firm, steady.

“You don’t trust me?” he asks, his voice softer now.

You exhale, your fingers still clenched against the seat. You hate that he always does this—pushes the limits, then pulls back just in time. Never reckless, but always toeing the line.

He watches you carefully. His hand doesn’t move. “I know what I’m doing,” he murmurs. “You know that.”

You swallow, heart still racing. Slowly, you force yourself to breathe.

Finally, you meet his gaze. “I do.”

His smirk fades into something almost unreadable, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Then, as if the moment never happened, he pulls away and taps the wheel.

“Good,” he says, voice back to its usual cocky drawl. “Now, you picking the music, or are we just sitting in silence all night?”

Protective to a Fault

The party is too loud, too crowded. You regret coming the second you realize how packed it is, but Nick insisted he wasn’t letting you stay home alone.

“You gotta get out once in a while,” he had teased. “Or I’m gonna start thinking you secretly hate fun.”

You had rolled your eyes, but now, as you shift uncomfortably in the too-warm space, you almost wish you had stayed home.

Especially because the guy you’ve been trying to politely brush off for the last five minutes isn’t getting the hint.

“Come on, sweetheart,” the guy slurs, leaning in too close. “One dance—what’s the harm?”

Your stomach twists. “I said no.”

“That’s not what your eyes are saying—”

And then suddenly, Nick is there, standing between you and the guy like he was waiting for this moment.

“Hey, buddy,” Nick says, voice light, but there’s something dangerous underneath. “Didn’t she just say no?”

The guy scoffs, barely glancing at Nick. “Who the hell are you?”

Now normally Nick isn’t one for talking much. He likes to use his fists to communicate. But after promising his mother promising you, not to be so violent, he finds his restraint ticking like a clock at the moment. Nick tilts his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Someone with a short temper and a lot of free time. You wanna find out what happens when you ignore her again?”

The guy sizes Nick up, like he’s thinking about pushing his luck. But then Nick shifts slightly, and you know he’s already decided what will happen if this guy takes another step toward you.

The guy mutters something under his breath before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Nick doesn’t watch him leave. Instead, he turns to you, scanning your face. “You okay?”

You nod, exhaling. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything—just hands you the drink from his own hand instead of yours.

You frown. “What—”

“Mine’s not spiked,” he says simply.

The realization hits you all at once. You glance down at the drink you were holding. Had that guy—?

Your stomach churns.

Nick sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I told you,” he mutters. “You gotta stop trusting people. I get to do that for you.”

Soft Spot for Animals

It’s past midnight when you walk into Nick’s garage, expecting to find him working on his car. Instead, you see him crouched down beside a tiny, scrappy-looking kitten, offering it a piece of leftover sandwich.

You stop in your tracks, biting back a grin. “Are you—”

Nick looks up sharply. “Shut up.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t say a word.”

He mutters something under his breath and focuses back on the kitten. It hesitates before snatching the food from his hand, its little ribs visible under its fur.

“You’re keeping it,” you say, matter-of-fact.

Nick scoffs. “Hell no.”

Two days later, you walk into the garage and find the same kitten curled up in his lap while he absently scratches behind its ears.

You smirk. “Not keeping it, huh?”

Nick doesn’t even look up. “It’s temporary.”

Sure.

Night Owl

Your phone buzzes at 2 AM.

Nick: Come outside.

You sigh but grab your hoodie anyway, stepping out into the night air. He’s leaning against his car, arms crossed, looking up at the sky.

“You always do this?” you ask, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “Show up unannounced in the middle of the night?”

He tilts his head toward the passenger seat. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured you couldn’t either.”

You blink. He’s not wrong, but… how does he know that?

Still, you don’t argue. You get in.

He drives with the windows down, the air cool against your skin. Neither of you speak, but the silence is comfortable. Eventually, he pulls up to an overlook where the whole city stretches below.

For a while, you just sit there, watching the lights. Then, out of nowhere, he says, “You ever think about leaving?”

You glance at him. “Where would we go?”

He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Somewhere new. Somewhere no one knows us.”

Something in his voice makes your chest tighten.

“You’d take me with you?” you ask quietly.

Nick turns his head toward you, his expression unreadable. Then, just as softly, he says, “Wouldn’t go without you.”

Actions Over Words

Nick isn’t the type to say he cares.

Instead, he just shows up.

When your car won’t start in the middle of the night while you’re over late at a friends house, you don’t even get through the second ring before he picks up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Car won’t start,” you mumble. “I—I didn’t know who else to call—”

“Where are you?” he asks, already moving.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulls up beside you. He doesn’t say a word—just pops the hood, fixes the problem in five minutes, then leans against the car with his arms crossed.

“Next time, don’t wait so long to call me,” he says.

You sigh, rubbing your arms. “I didn’t want to bother you—”

He clicks his tongue. “Dumbest thing I’ve heard all night.”

You smile. “So… I’m not a bother?”

Nick gives you a look. Then, to your surprise, he reaches out and flicks your forehead.

“You better not be,” he mutters. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

I’m not in love

A/N: I haven’t done a song fic in FOREVERRR, so here’s one since I’m in an Alastor slump!

Synopsis: Alastor isn’t in love with you. He doesn’t love anyone. So why can’t he let you go?

The bell over the diner door jingled at a quarter past midnight, the same way it always did when Alastor pushed himself inside after his broadcast. The place was quiet at this hour and smelled like coffee gone stale and sugar that never quite melted into the marble counter.

You were wiping down a booth when he walked in with that polite smile that never fooled you, not really. It reached his eyes, but only just.

He tipped his hat to you.

“Evenin’. Busy night?”

“Not anymore,” you said and tossed the rag aside. “Your usual?”

He nodded, but his gaze lingered on you longer than usual. It flicked away when you caught it.

I keep your picture upon the wall. It hides a nasty stain that’s lying there.

He told himself he only came to this diner because it was on the way home. He told himself the coffee, though terrible, tasted familiar after too many long nights in the sound booth. He told himself your voice was just a pleasant sound in a world full of static.

But the truth was heavier than that.

When you walked past him to pour his coffee, he could smell the faint sweetness of the perfume you always put on near the end of your shift. He knew the exact moment of the night you did it because every time the scent showed up, so did his heartbeat.

He hated that.

He also loved it.

He took a slow sip of coffee, ignoring how warm he felt.

Not in love. Absolutely not.

He did not linger on the way your hair curled near your cheek when the heat from the kitchen blew out. He did not think about the softness in your voice when you called him “Al.” He did not imagine what your hand would feel like in his.

Not in love. He told himself that again.

I’m not in love. So do not forget it.

You slid into the booth across from him near the end of your shift.

“Louise let me clock out early,” you said. “You need company or you mind the silence?”

Alastor stiffened.

“The company is fine,” he said too quickly.

You raised an eyebrow. “Fine?”

He cleared his throat. “Acceptable.”

You laughed and leaned your elbows on the table. Your smile was soft. Warm. Dangerous.

Alastor looked at the table instead of at you because something about your eyes loosened the knots he kept tied too tight.

He could not allow that.

“You really walk me home every night just because you enjoy the air?” you teased.

“The city can be dangerous,” he said.

“Alastor,” you whispered, “you could just say you like the company.”

The words struck him like a hand to the chest.

He reached for his coffee though it had gone cold.

“I walk you home because it is the gentlemanly thing to do,” he said. “Nothing more.”

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes this time.

I like to see you, but then again… that does not mean you mean that much to me.

The walk home was quiet. The streetlamps glowed gold on the wet pavement and water dripped from rusty balconies. Your shoes tapped softly beside his.

He kept his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t reach for yours.

You hummed something under your breath. A soft, lonely tune.

He recognized it.

He swallowed hard.

Alastor felt his breath catch at the sight of you.

He looked straight ahead.

You laughed softly, but there was sadness in it.

Do not write it in a letter. Do not tell your friends about the two of us.

He walked you to your door. You turned to face him and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Al,” you said quietly.

“You know, you do not have to pretend you do not care. You can admit you worry.”

His throat tightened.

“If I admitted that,” he said softly, “I would admit more than I should.”

Your breath caught.

“Like what?”

He stepped back. A single step, but it felt like he had torn himself away from warmth he wanted too much.

“I cannot offer anything,” he said. “I am not a man built for soft things or simple feelings.”

You frowned. “Who said I wanted simple?”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

Your face in the lamplight.

Your hand curled near your chest like you wanted to reach for him but did not dare.

Something inside him cracked.

He swallowed it down.

“Goodnight,” he said.

He turned away before you could see the fear in his eyes.

I’m not in love. No, no. It is because…

He made it halfway down the sidewalk before stopping.

The night felt colder without you beside him.

He closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his chest. His pulse was fast. Sickening. Beautiful.

He whispered to no one,

“I am not in love.”

But the words shook.

They shook so badly he almost laughed.

Then he turned back.

You were still at your door, watching him leave.

When he walked toward you again, your eyes widened in surprise.

He stopped in front of you, breath soft and uneven.

His hat tilted low.

His voice low enough to be almost a confession.

“I do not know what to do,” he said. “Whenever I tell myself I am not in love with you… it feels like I’m lying.”

Your eyes softened.

You touched his hand first, careful, giving him room to pull away.

He didn’t.

He curled his fingers around yours like he had been waiting to do it for months.

“Then stop lying,” you whispered.

He leaned in just a little.

Not enough for a kiss.

Just enough to breathe the same warm air.

“Walk me home tomorrow,” you said.

He smiled. A small, helpless one.

“Every night,” he murmured.

“If you will let me.”

And somewhere in the back of his mind,

He was not in love.

Except he was.

So terribly.

So quietly.

So completely.

Not In love.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

I saw a post that talked about Isaac Night and the reader dying as young lovers and reunited by him feeding you brains, and i absolutely need that written... please

A/N: I LOVE this idea, and it’s honestly so sweet so thank you so much for this! I wrote this in the car so if there’s misspelling or grammar errors please don’t mind it 🥲, i hope this was what you wanted or something close to it!

Navigation!!

Warnings: mentions of death, brain eating, super sappy love, SEASON TWO SPOILERS, loosely based off Isaac & his sisters dialogue/scenes

The earth was cold and damp around her when she opened her eyes. Darkness pressed against her like a shroud, and her chest ached with a dull hunger that throbbed deeper than pain. Y/N clawed upward, dirt crumbling between her fingernails. Her body felt heavy, stiff, not her own. When she broke the surface, the air burned her lungs with its unfamiliar sharpness. She could not remember the last breath she had taken.

A shadow crouched above her, and she flinched until her dull gaze focused on his face. Isaac Night. His dark eyes gleamed with something between desperation and relief.

“You made it back to me.”

His voice broke like glass. He pulled her from the grave, his cold hands trembling as he held her up against his chest. She swayed in his grip, her lips parting as if to speak. Nothing came out but a rasp. She tried again, a sound escaping like a whisper dragged from the depths of her throat.

“…Isaac.”

The syllables were broken, unfamiliar, but his name was still his name. His eyes closed as though the world had been restored in a single word.

“Yes. It is me. I promised I would not lose you.”

She pressed her forehead weakly against his collarbone. Her body felt wrong, her veins empty, her skin cold. Her hunger gnawed at her, sharp and endless. She clutched at her stomach without knowing why. Isaac noticed.

“You feel it, don’t you? The hollow ache. I knew it would be there. Do not be afraid, Y/N. I brought something for you.”

From a satchel at his side, he drew a bundle wrapped in stained cloth. When he unwrapped it, the smell struck her with violent force. Flesh, rich and heavy with what she craved though she did not yet understand. He pressed a piece gently to her lips.

“Eat. Please. It will help.”

Her instinct overcame her confusion. She bit into it, the taste flooding her with warmth that spread through her veins like fire. The hollow ache eased, just a fraction. Her dull eyes flickered, focusing more clearly on him. She reached for his wrist, gripping it with sudden urgency.

“…More.”

Her voice cracked but the word was clear. Isaac smiled, though tears welled in his eyes.

“I will bring you all you need. Every last bite. Whatever it takes.”

He held her as she fed, his lips pressed to her temple, whispering through her trembling.

“Each time you eat, you will come back more. I have seen it. I know it. You will not stay in the dark forever. I will guide you. I will give you everything.”

Over the nights that followed, he kept his word. Isaac returned to her again and again, arms heavy with his grim offerings. Y/N consumed them with a hunger that frightened her, though she could not stop. With each feeding, her body grew stronger. Her eyes cleared, her lips regained color, and her voice returned in fragments.

On the second night, she sat huddled in the ruins of the graveyard chapel. Isaac knelt in front of her, placing the cloth bundle into her lap.

“I stole this from a man who would not be missed,” he said softly. “I only thought of you as I took it. I thought of what it would give back to you.”

Her hands trembled as she unwrapped the flesh, her movements clumsy and unnatural. She ate, faster this time, not hesitating. When she was finished, she licked her lips unconsciously, then froze in shame.

Isaac tilted her chin up. “Do not look at me like that. You are not a monster. You are my salvation.”

Her throat worked as she tried to form words. “…Still… hungry.”

His thumb brushed over her cheekbone. “Then I will find more. I do not care what it costs. I will never let you starve.”

On the third night, she could walk on her own. Her steps were uneven, but her body obeyed her again. Isaac brought her to the edge of the woods where the moonlight spilled over the leaves. He set down the satchel between them.

“I killed for this one,” he confessed. His voice was low, almost reverent. “It was quick. He did not suffer. I thought only of you, of how your voice will sound when it is whole again.”

She stared at him, then at the meal, her stomach twisting with need. Slowly she ate, each bite bringing more warmth into her body. Her lips parted as she whispered, “Isaac…”

It was clearer now, almost whole. His eyes shone with joy.

“Say it again.”

“Isaac.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her as though the world itself might end around them.

By the fifth night, she no longer looked like a corpse. Her skin had a faint glow, her eyes burned with life, and when she smiled at him, he nearly fell to his knees. She spoke more easily, though her voice was still soft and hesitant.

“Why are you doing this for me?” she asked, sitting beside him in the quiet of the crypt where they now hid.

“Because I could not live in a world without you. Because love does not end when the heart stops beating. I would rather damn myself a thousand times than let you slip into the soil.”

She studied him, her hands folded tightly in her lap. “But what have you done? Where do you find these things?”

He kissed her fingers before she could pull them away. “Do not ask, Y/N. It does not matter whose lives ended. Only that yours begins again.”

Each feeding brought her closer to herself. She began to remember warmth, laughter, the way Isaac once smiled when sunlight caught her hair. And yet, she also remembered the grave, the hunger, the taste of what she had become. Both truths lived in her now, and Isaac was the thread binding them together.

On a night when the wind carried the scent of autumn leaves, Y/N looked at her reflection in the dark glass of a window. Her skin was flushed again, her eyes bright. She touched her cheek with trembling fingers.

“I am human again.”

Isaac came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Yes. Because of me. Because I gave you back what the world stole.”

Her hands covered his, though her voice was quiet. “And now I am alive because you fed me death.”

He turned her toward him, his lips brushing her hairline, his whisper rough. “Do not think of it that way. Think of it as love given shape. I gave you pieces of others because I could not lose you. You are worth any sin.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “What if I told you I did not want it? That I would rather have stayed gone?”

Isaac stiffened. His grip tightened, almost desperate. “Do not say that. I could not have survived it. You do not understand, Y/N. When I buried you, the world ended. I dug you free because I could not breathe without you. Even if you hate me, you are here. That is enough.”

Silence fell heavy between them, broken only by the rustle of trees. Finally, Y/N leaned forward, pressing her lips to his with a softness that shocked him.

“I could never hate you. You are ruined by love, and now so am I. If this is the price, then I will pay it.”

Isaac’s breath shuddered against her cheek as he kissed her again, fiercer, clutching her as though the earth might steal her away once more.

“Then we are bound. Not by heaven, not by life, but by hunger and devotion. Forever.”

Her answer was a whisper against his lips. “Forever.”

The grave that once divided them was only a memory now. In its place stood something darker, stronger, and far more dangerous. Together, they had stolen life from death, and together they would keep it, no matter how much blood it cost.

Neither of them would ever walk in the light the same way again. But they would walk it together.

And that, to both Isaac and Y/N, was enough.